


I wanted to see you again

by horlockshelmes



Series: a collection of drabbles that i should probably proof-read [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Molly Hooper (mentioned) - Freeform, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Scotland Yard, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, St Bartholomew's Hospital, Tumblr Prompt, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horlockshelmes/pseuds/horlockshelmes
Summary: Prompt(s): ‘I love you’ 'no you don’t’ / 'why are you here? I didn’t ask for your help.’





	I wanted to see you again

'Go and have a look upstairs, you know your way around.’ Greg Lestrade smiles at you with tired eyes when you get out of his car. They tell you he really hadn’t been in the mood to play Sherlock’s games. You didn’t blame him, for all you’d witnessed in these three short lived months, and what he must’ve witnessed in his three drab years. You return a smile, and head inside of the hospital as you’d been instructed.

St Bart’s wasn’t known for its complicated floor plans, luckily, and to your relief not many people questioned you or the legitimacy of your access to the lab floor, but nevertheless you fumbled with the ID that Sherlock pick-pocketed last week to allow you access to one of his cases.

You’d kept it, hoping you’d never need to use it. You’d figured it was best to avoid a run-in with someone called 'Molly Hooper’, as if she questioned your ID she’d be met with the uncomfortable coincidence of her own name and picture staring back at her.

When you’d reached the microscope lab at the end of the hallway you peered into the rectangular window in the door. It looked empty, and when you’d tried the curved, metal handle it popped open to your surprise. You pushed the door open no more than a few inches and poked your head into the room, being met with an unpleasantly flat, chemical smell.

The lab was vast, but cluttered so severely that half of its size became lost in the various liquids and tubes that inhibited the table tops. Sherlock sat at the one furthest from the door - to prevent distractions, you’d assumed - head and hands buried in a microscope, to the point where if you hadn’t recognised his black tresses you would’ve excused yourself from the room, and continued looking in the mortuary.

You stepped into the room silently, holding the door with the nearest hand and securing it to shut as quietly as humanly possible in order not to disturb the working detective. You’d worked with him before, perhaps not for long, but long enough to know the string of snarky insults he wouldn’t refrain from using against anyone.

Sherlock’s head bobbed up momentarily, without directing his gaze toward you, before the fingers of his left hand danced over the magnification and he lowered it again.

You’d taken his action as a cue to enter the room further. Still, you paced forward quite silently and laid Molly Hooper’s ID onto an empty space next to Sherlock’s microscope.

'What is it Lestrade needs?’ He asks, quite abruptly, startling you when you sit down.

You stay wordless. Half confused at Sherlock’s question and half unsure of how to answer it. Didn’t it cross his mind that you’d searched for him, just because?

Sherlock bobs his head up quickly, meeting your stare and causing you to flick your eyes away in embarrassment. He doesn’t hang on this detail though, when you meet his eyes again he appears overcome with curiosity, letting you know he wouldn’t settle for silence as an answer. Sherlock tries again.

'Why are you here?’ He questions. 'I didn’t ask for your help.’

'You called me along to the last one,’ you start, regarding the ID on the table, some fraction inside of you hoping that he’d remember you, catch on, and give you a task to work on in the lab. 'I thought, maybe, you didn’t want to text.’ You fumble with your hands, 'Greg told me you’d be here.’

Sherlock leered at the floor, before grimacing and inhaling sharply.

'That’s not all Lestrade told you.’ He says, matter-of-factly, making you flinch. 'You’re not carrying a bag, and you’re not holding your wallet, so if you got cab here you wouldn’t have been able to pay.’ Sherlock sits back in his chair. 'Lestrade drove you here and-’ He studies your face for a moment before his eyes become large and his mouth opens a little wider when he utters a small 'oh’.

'He’s here too. He’s in St Bart’s, isn’t he?’

You immediately stop slouching and he smiles a peculiar grin. 'Sherlock, no-’

'Why did you two come looking for me? Did I break another of those… law thingies?’

'For God’s sakes because I love you, Sherlock. I love your cases and I love that you’re in a bad mood almost all the time!’ You snapped at him, scanning the floor before shutting your eyes and scrunching them to keep the oncoming headache at bay. The smell of sulphur was really stripping the moisture from them.

'I love that you never talk to anyone, and I love that when you do it always ends up being horrendously morbid. And I love how mean and grumpy you are because it’s so real! Nobody is like that.’ You open your eyes, and Sherlock looks nothing short of uncomfortable. 'Greg always smiles at me when I’m talking to him, but it’s so obvious that he’s tired and miserable - his eyes give it away - they’re cloudy and gone.’ You think for a second, 'Or John - he always asks people if they’re okay, but nobody ever asks him, and he just ends up smiling all the time so people know he’s fine, and they don’t have to ask.’

You swallow, 'You’re not like that. You’re just… you.’ You start to fumble with your hands again when you see Sherlock hasn’t moved a muscle to reveal what he thought. 'You’re just… Sherlock.’ You repeat, this time quieter and he shifts violently, startling you.

Sherlock clears his throat just before the silence can hit thirty seconds.

'No you don’t.’

You exhale in a short burst, dropping your head to your lap and attempting to process his words. The lab was really becoming bleak, you thought, and you hadn’t become desensitised to the smell at all. 'What?’

'You don’t love me. So don’t say it.’ Sherlock says shortly, before examining down the eyepiece of the microscope again. Before you can argue he stretches his arm forward and slaps it onto the ID, sliding it forward. 'Keep it.’ He urges.

'Why?’

'How else are you going to get in next time?’

Sherlock doesn’t look up, and perhaps for the better, because he doesn’t see the ridiculously large smile that, to your dismay, creeps onto your face a little too easily.

'Text Lestrade and tell him to drive away, don’t call, he’ll get suspicious and come looking for you.’

Your smile doesn’t falter when you realise Sherlock remembered you and the help he received. You sigh, sliding off the chair and landing on the floor with a small click from your shoes. Not everything that seemed good meant it was, you thought. You knew Greg’s rules, and you knew how he hated when Sherlock got you involved in things you weren’t legally allowed to see.

Just before you can deny the request, (which came out a whole lot more like an order) Sherlock immediately lunges forward and snatches the swipe-card he’d offered you, bringing it close to his chest with a childish glee that made you question the man before you. He points to the only entrance in the lab.

'That door requires identification for you to leave. Odd - I know - I used to think it was a construction error.’ His eyes flick over you so briefly you almost don’t notice.

You turn your head and trace the door. It was a thick, light wood, with metal around the edges and the door handle, notifying you it was, in fact, alarmed. You eye the black, palm-sized scanner to the left of it. It was equipped with a rhythmically flashing, rectangular, red light, which you’d guessed wouldn’t be hard to move around, but a lot harder with a sociopath by your side.

'I’m not bluffing, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. The scanner stays turned on all night, and on a Thursday evening the alarm goes straight to the morgue.’ Sherlock pauses, beckoning you to return your attention to him, for it was, in fact, Thursday evening. When you do, you realize quite rapidly that Sherlock hadn’t stopped staring at you. 'And we both know who works down there on a Thursday night.’

He rolls his eyes when your expression renders absolute cluelessness. Sherlock pulls your ID into view again, shaking it in front of your face like a primary school bully with somebody’s toy.

'Molly Hooper would be baffled to find a stranger with the key-card she lost last week.’

You can feel your throat close up. 'I- I’ll tell her you stole it-’

'I would like to see you try.’ He spits, playful grin tugging at the edges of his mouth, which came as a shock to you. 'Text Lestrade, I trust I won’t have to take your phone and do it for you.’

You do as he asks, for some reason obliging and stuffing your phone into your back pocket when you’d finished. Sherlock hadn’t stopped watching you, you notice some distant version of a smirk ghosting his features when he tucks Molly’s ID away into the inside pocket of his jacket - somewhere he was sure you wouldn’t have the boldness to reach - before pushing away from the desk on his revolving chair and grabbing a light brown case file that he threw in your broad direction when he’d returned to his table.

'Have a read, see what you can tell me that I don’t already know.’ Sherlock announced, his words long and drawn out as he sorted through a pile of photos and notes that didn’t match his handwriting.

Your face melted into a smile again. You picked up the first thing in arms reach, baffled at the lengths he’d gone to keep you in the lab, for the sole reason to sit and have you read a few of his files.

Sherlock had been indifferent to dismissing Lestrade, so indifferent he’d done it by your mobile phone, apparently. He hadn’t had anybody in the lab prior to you, you’d assumed, so help wasn’t what he was after. Quickly making you draw the conclusion that all he was after, was you.

You barely even thought of the potential consequences Lestrade would bring onto you when he’d found you’d been messing with confidential details of victims and killers, but in the moment you didn’t mind, and Sherlock didn’t care, because he knew that as long as he was there, Lestrade wouldn’t ever ponder over firing you.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr! If you enjoyed this please go follow me on there, I post similar stuff :).


End file.
